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Nostalgia for a House in Turda, Romania by Gabriela Suarez

Nostalgia for a House in Turda, Romania

by Gabriela Suarez

published in Sliver of Stone, Issue 1, 2010


I rest my cheek on the peeling wall and my hands on the curtains my grandmother embroidered. This is where I spent my first eleven summers and left pieces of me scattered: ten black markings on the wall where I grew, crayon marks on furniture, tricycle scratches in the wood floor. I am part of the house my grandfather built. I smell her sarmale, his wine fermenting in barrels in the basement. The pitch of their voices resonates within me. I hear myself apologize for leaving them and listen to silence. Church bells churn in the distance. I imagine a suspended metronome measuring the way time is unforgiving.


Time is unforgiving. I imagine a suspended metronome measuring the silence. Church bells churn in the distance. I hear myself apologize for leaving them and feel the pitch of their cries as it resonates within me. I smell her sarmale, his wine fermenting in barrels in the basement. I am part of the house my grandfather built. Crayon marks on furniture, tricycle scratches in the wood floor. Ten pen markings on the wall where I grew. I’ve left pieces of me scattered everywhere. This is where I spent my first eleven summers, watched my grandmother embroider her curtains. I rest my cheek on the peeling wall.




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